Drastic Changes
by Olivia44
Summary: My first Fanfiction EVER, set PostAmends. I try to hook up my favorite pairing privately... sorry I'm not good at these. Rated M for safety
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own _Criminal Intent_ or anything related to it. IT'S NOT FAIR! :-(

Summary: Story's set after _Amends_. It's gonna be a little... experiment with trying to hook up Bobby and Alex privately. Oh, and I brought Barek back and hooked her up with Logan. *coughs* From all other female detective's in CI I liked her best (besides Alex of course. ;-))

English's NOT my native language (that's German), but since I want to improve my written English I must practice it, right? So please bear with me. I try my best here. :-)

So let's go.

CHAPTER ONE ~ REVELATION

Detective Alexandra Eames shoved away the reports she was trying to read and covered her face with her hands. For a few moments she just sat there, slumped over the desk, elbows resting on the desktop. She was so tired she could fall asleep right on the spot. Dull throbs pulsed behind her eyes, the first signs of a nasty headache on the way. After a minute or two she rubbed her eyes, straightened up again and looked around in the squad room. She shook her head, amazed that everything appeared so normal, as if nothing had happened.

The desks of her colleagues were scattered about the room like leaves being blown apart by the wind. Files and folders, coffee mugs and food containers, photos of family piled up on the steel blue metal just like on hers. The only difference was that hers lacked food containers. Alex didn't have a lot of appetite lately.

All offices of the Major Case Squad were painted in a steely hue somewhere between blue and grey, the paint already crumbling away at some spots and the floors covered with old, cracked linoleum. Together with the neon lights it made one feel as if one was sitting in an aquarium or under a UV-lamp. The responsive city officials obviously didn't care much about spending money to renew the administrative structure – not only Major Case's but that of _all_ authorities in the city - and rather let it slowly crumble into nothing. But Eames didn't complain, it was familiar to her. On the contrary, she found it oddly cozy. _Sheesh, what's wrong with you?_ she wondered when she caught herself thinking that.

The faint aromas of bitter coffee, cigarette smoke, body odors, vomit and the stale odor of a place that had been neglected for too long and already witnessed too much evil created a familiar but not exactly pleasant olfactory symphony. She couldn't remember when she'd last noticed it so intense.

The voices of her colleagues, clicking of keyboards, shrill rings of phones and gurgling of two coffee machines in the back corner of the squad room molded into the familiar cacophony that usually had a calming, relaxing effect on her. Not today however.

The names Kevin Quinn, Ray Delgado, Manny Beltran and Joseph Dutton were spooking through her mind, keeping her away from the calming routine of reading and writing reports before going out on the streets following leads.

Things had appeared very simple.

Nine years ago Joe and Kevin had worked undercover for Narcotics in Ray Delgado's drug business. Joe's cover blew up and Delgado himself executed him. Kevin saw it and testified in Delgado's trial, which brought Delgado behind bars. Nine years later Kevin was shot under dubious circumstances while participating in a similar job. Delgado then ordered his murder and that of a former follower of his. He wanted to take revenge because they testified again at a hearing of the board of probation. This prevented Delgado's early release from Sing Sing for being an exemplary inmate.

Every part of the sickening puzzle fit perfectly together. Alex, blinded by her hatred against Delgado for killing her beloved Joe and wanting nothing more than see for it that he rotted behind bars for it, lost sight of the fact that perfection wasn't part of the job. Things were never as easy and obvious as they seemed especially not when one dealt with criminals.{i}As I wanted them to be,{/i} she admitted to herself.

A thud followed by a loud curse snapped her back to reality and made her jump.

"Good heavens!" She gasped and pressed her hand on her chest, feeling her heart pound against her ribs.

A thick folder had fallen off Detective Carolyn Barek's desk and its content scattered around it. Now she was on her knees, cursing under her breath and picking up the mess, sheets and photographs.

When she turned back to her paperwork her gaze fell on Bobby. He was still in Captain Ross' office and through its glass walls she observed them. Bobby sat with his back to her but she could see Ross' face, the familiar sphinx-like expression. She frowned when she noticed how stiff her partner was. He barely gesticulated like he usually did, but sat like frozen in the chair before Ross' desk. He'd gone to Ross with the final reports of the Quinn investigation they'd finished today. It had taken them some time because they had a heavy case load. _What keeps him so long?_ She saw Bobby give something to Ross. She narrowed her eyes. _Is that an envelope?_

The next moment Ross' features… _derailed_. That was the only adequate description that came to her mind for his facial expression. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Alex wondered what Bobby had told him to provoke this reaction so unusual for him. She'd ask him when he returned. Over the following conversation Ross' features seemed like a kaleidoscope of emotions – surprise, sadness, disappointment, wonder; it was fascinating - before it turned into a commiserative expression when Bobby rose. They exchanged a few more words before they shook hands and Bobby came out.

Today he wore an anthracite colored suit, a plain white shirt and a dark red black striped tie. The jacket hung over the back rest of his chair. It fit him very well, accentuated his tall, stocky form. Five o'clock shadow darkened his tired features. Deep wrinkles had dug into his forehead and the corners of his mouth and dark shadows lay under his dark eyes. His graying hair made him look older than forty - one. He obviously hadn't gotten much sleep recently. _Not only you_, she thought and suppressed a yawn.

When he turned to her after closing the door he froze and his eyes widened when he met her gaze. He quickly dropped his before approaching her. He cleared his throat.

"I'll call it a day. See you tomorrow," he said, barely looking at her. He grabbed his jacket and put it on with jerky motions. It seemed as if he couldn't wait to get away.

_From me?_ "What's wrong, Bobby?"

"What do you mean?"

_He's evasive. Why?_ "I'm not blind, Goren. Ross' features derailed! I even saw it from here. What were you talking about?"

"Personal issues." He gave her a blank look.

"What-"

"See you tomorrow, Alex."

With a brusque movement he turned away and approached the elevators with determined steps.

Her heart cramped. She didn't understand why he brushed her off so easily. _What personal issues? Why wouldn't he tell me?_ Usually they talked about things that bothered each other. Obviously that was over… and the Quinn case was the reason. The murder of Kevin had resurrected memories of the toughest time of her life: the murder of her beloved husband Joe nine years ago. Kevin had been his partner and best friend back then and so also a close friend of hers. It wasn't easy to deal with the loss and remain professional at the same time. She'd failed and she knew it. She should have listened to both Bobby and Ross who urged her to stop working on the case. Both agreed that she was too involved in it to keep the objectivity and emotional distance their work demanded. She knew all involved in it and had an obvious hatred on one of them that biased her.

Since the investigation began their relationship was strained. It had returned to the level of the first weeks of their partnership, no, even lower: strictly professional and suspiciously observing each other. The closeness and friendship that had developed over the past seven years seemingly had vanished and it hurt badly. Too often during the last few weeks after the end of the official investigation she wished that it had never happened, that they could just go back to what they shared before. But that was a childish wish. It would never again be like before between them. She was well aware that her plight was to a great part due to her refusal to see the truth that jumped her right in the face and for fighting everyone who tried to change her mind vigorously. _Have I lost Bobby over it?_ She shuddered. The thought scared her. But… seven _years_? A friendship and professional partnership developing over such a long time, only lost because of… that? She couldn't believe that either.

Trying to focus on the paperwork proved futile because again and again the little scene with Bobby repeated itself before her inner eye. How stiff and uncomfortable he appeared in Ross' office and even more when he came back; him avoiding eye contact with her and only his voice. Normally it was deep and clear, a naturally smooth and calm tune but more alive and melodic than it had been a few minutes before. She remembered how he flinched when he noticed that she looked at him, waiting for him to talk to her. He tried to suppress it but she saw it nevertheless. She imagined his nervous motion when he grabbed his jacket, the brusque breaking of contact before he left. He avoided her, didn't want to lie her in the face. _He feels guilty... a__nd doesn't want to tell me why._

She shoved the files away from her, rose and approached Ross' office. Her stomach churned and her mouth turned dry. Her heart beat faster and sweat moistened her palms. She wiped them on her dark pants. She urgently wanted to find out what was going on, but also was scared of what she might find out. Before she could change her mind she rapped on the door and waited until Ross called her in. The silence in the office felt absolute after she closed the door behind her and shut out most of the noise from the squad room.

The office had something claustrophobic about it and she fought the urge to flee. She didn't like being in narrow, cluttered rooms. Almost directly to her left a window provided a stunning view over the Lower East Side and the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. At the wall to the right stood a row of gray file cabinets, in front of her the familiar metal desk and the matching chair. Behind Ross on the wall hung several framed diplomas, commendations and photographs. Paperwork covered his desk.

Her Captain gave her an attentive look out of intense blue eyes.

"Detective Eames."

"I- I don't want to disturb you, Captain." She hated the insecurity in her voice. "I know that… it's maybe not correct to ask but what did you and Bobby talk about? He looked… troubled when he came out."

"Your worry for your partner honors you, Detective, but we talked in private and I don't pass private things on."

"But, Captain…"

His sphinx-like expression softened as well as his intense stare and an almost – smile tucked at the corners of his mouth. "As much as this upsets you, Eames, I won't tell you. It's Goren's business to tell you or not. I'm the boss here. I don't only lead this club but also I'm also a person of trust. And Goren wanted our talk to stay private."

"I see, Sir," she admitted defeat and lowered her head.

Her gaze fell on the desk top. Just out of reach, only a hand's breadth away a sole sheet, half covering a white envelope laid on a stock of files next to the desk lamp. It only took a quick grip…

"Go home, Alexandra," Ross said with a worried expression. "You look tired. Try to relax and eat something. You've lost weight over the last few weeks and I don't want you to break down. The paperwork can wait until tomorrow."

"Thank you, Captain."

"See you tomorrow, Alex."

Just in this moment the phone rang.

Time slowed. Like in slow motion she saw her boss turn to the left corner of the desk where the phone stood. He was focused on the following conversation and didn't pay too close attention to her anymore. It'd only take her a second or two to skim the two little paragraphs. Not enough time for Ross to end the conversation before turning his full attention to her again. And even if he did he couldn't prevent her from doing it… That little moment was enough. The urge to get clarity was stronger than her scruple to invade the respected boss' privacy and ignore his order. With a quick grasp she gripped the sheet and read over it.

Ross slammed down the receiver and whirled around to her. She heard his voice muffled, like through a layer of cotton, but didn't pay attention.

Her bad feeling didn't deceive her. Now it was official, no longer just a hunch. A feeling of overwhelming sadness and loss as well as confusion and hurt took over her. The sheet slipped from her suddenly numb fingers. Her knees buckled and she slumped on the chair before Ross' desk. Her heart beat rapidly against her ribs and she felt lightheaded.

"You went too far, Detective," he said with a sharp edge in his voice, his face a stern mask, neon blues glowing.

Alex didn't even notice. She gave him a confused look. "Bobby's _leaving_?" Verbalizing it tasted even more bitter than just reading it. "Why? What does 'personal issues' mean?"

Worry slowly replaced his anger. "Eames… Are you okay?"

"No, how can I?"

Her voice was high and thin and trembled slightly. She barely recognized it. That was the last thing she'd expected, a vicious blow out of the blue. Her mind went all blank, her thoughts bouncing around in her head like rubber balls, too fast to follow them.

He left the office and returned with a glass of water. Alex sipped it slowly, barely noticing it running down her throat. Bobby could as well have slapped her right in the face. Why did he do this and even more why in secrecy? She'd never thought that he'd rather leave than facing her. That was cowardly. She never considered him a coward. What had changed?

When she raised her head Ross gave her an insistent look.

"I understand why you did this, Alex," he nodded towards the letter, "but I can't tolerate it. You… _no one_ can just come into my office and read things which are actually intended for me. You see?"

"Absolutely… I'm really sorry."

He nodded. "Don't worry about it now."

Silence fell. Alex didn't know if she was dismissed or not so she remained seated and watched Ross' face. He looked at her as if she was a problem he didn't know how to solve. He'd pressed his lips together to a thin line, narrowed his eyes, brows furrowed. Alex wondered why. She wasn't used to see her boss so emotional and it made her nervous. When he bent forward and rested his elbows on the desktop, folded his hands and his blues eyes fixated her she involuntary tensed up. She feared the decision he obviously had made was about her impulsive action.

She listened with growing disbelief when Ross finally spoke. When he was finished she was for the second time of the day so dumbfounded that it made her speechless. It confused her. Normally she could deal well with all the absurdities and hardships life and especially the job threw at her. But now wit and sarcasm failed her as well as words.

Ross hadn't spoken about any consequences involving her little "mistake". Obviously he'd changed his mind and finally brought himself to tell her about the conversation he'd had with Bobby. It went against his principles and the promise he made to reveal the words her partner considered safe with him to her. It showed in how he haltingly he spoke, how he paused at times, in the difficulties he had with keeping eye contact with her.

She swallowed then cleared her throat.

"I appreciate that you told me, Captain."

_"I_'d appreciate it if you wouldn't tell him that I told you," he said with a sigh.

"I can't-" ..._promise you that._ She paused. "I'll try, Captain."

He nodded in defeat. He knew that she maybe couldn't keep it to herself and he seemed to understand why.

All of a sudden she felt the strong urge to know why he had changed his mind. As if he knew what she was going to ask he shook his head.

"I'll refrain from any consequences for your little _faux pas_, Detective," he continued. "But see for it that it won't happen again. We understand each other?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good." He tilted his head. "Are you really okay?"

"I admit, what you told me was… quite a hammer. I've never even considered it. There were never any signs or reasons to and to be true it was too far above me to consider it." She emptied the glass of water. "I think I'll leave now. No way I can concentrate on work now. I first must digest this."

He nodded with an understanding expression.

_How could I have thought the man has no feelings_, she wondered, strangely touched by his clumsy tries to show involvement and help her.

They said their good-byes then Alex left her boss' office and returned to her desk. She tidied up her workplace, got her purse out of her locker and hollered good-bye to her colleagues before she left for the day.

She had no idea yet what she should do now.

_Who would've thought _that_?_


	2. Chapter 2

"Personal issues."

Captain Danny Ross' sonorant voice broke the awkward silence in the small, cluttered office. His icy stare fixated his opposite.

Seemingly stoic Detective Bobby Goren returned it. In reality however he fought the urge to squirm. His heart beat faster, his stomach clenched and his long fingers twitched, wanted to grip the armrests they rested on outwardly relaxed. He'd been confronted with a lot of creeps over the years. They'd done and told him about things that would scare normal people into insanity but even they hadn't put him out so much as this icy stare. He felt like a microbe being scrutinized under the microscope.

"Do these 'personal issues' listen to the name Eames?"

He stiffened at hearing her name. He couldn't suppress it. For a moment life returned to Ross' sphinx-like facial expression when his icy eyes briefly lit up. He nodded as if he just learned something his already knew.

Bobby sighed. Usually he mastered the game, but he was exhausted, overworked and distracted by his clinch with Eames. _You enjoy that, don't you?_

"Yes… but-"

"You disappoint me, Detective," Ross interrupted him.

"Sir?" Bobby croaked. Ross sounded as if he indeed meant it.

"We may have had our differences and I also don't agree with most of your investigative ways and your tics. But I respect your work and you as a professional. You have a way to get to the goal in a way I never saw it before. However I considered you an adult capable of dealing with his problems. And you tell me that you leave just because of-"

"Sir, this has nothing to do with the Quinn case," Bobby interrupted Ross, harsher than intended. He couldn't believe what just left Ross' mouth.

"It has not?" Ross eyes widened almost unnoticeably and he slightly tilted his head.

"It's… complicated."

Man, did he hate the tremor in his voice or how his left hand shooting up and rubbed the back of his neck. He only noticed it when his hand made contact with his skin. He had no problem with _work_-related conversation: summarizing the results of interrogations, analyzing and explaining a suspect's behavior or his observations at crime scenes. However he hated situations like this. He hated talking about _himself_. He felt helpless and exposed then. There was too much he wanted, no, _needed_ to forget. He didn't dare to verbalize it out of fear to go totally insane then-

Bobby wasn't so opinionated, presumptuous or paranoid to believe that Ross would actually discriminate against him or really punish him, not so close to the finish line what in his case meant getting rid of his biggest trouble shooter.

On the other hand however Ross was a careerist. He hadn't earned the prestigious position at Major Case because he was so nice and understanding but strict and unyielding. He strictly ruled the place, didn't like individualism or someone's own initiative. Additionally he had connections to all planes of the department and knew how to use them to his advantage. He certainly wouldn't tolerate what he'd tell him because it would endanger not only the squad's but also his reputation when he kept a detective whose emotions would pose a danger to his objectivity and distance and therefore his ability to work.

But was that still valid? What Ross just said made him doubt. He wouldn't have expected such human sentiments behind the cool façade.

The truth was that he just couldn't read and predict Ross like he could most other people. It was in the tiniest eye movements or twitches in the facial muscles or limps or body posture that told him if someone lied, hid something or told him the truth. The environment of the witness's / potential subject's home – photos, furniture, souvenirs, how it appeared in general, tidy or sloppy - helped him additionally to get an image of the respective person. But Ross was like a lotus leaf. His sphinx-like face and functional furnished office gave nothing away, not how he felt, not what he thought or wanted.

He had absolutely no clue how he would react. Bobby took in a deep breath.

"I… I have… feelings for Eames," he admitted reluctantly. "I can't… stay here. Not with her as partner… not with her here at all. I can't… do my job anymore when she's around and… districts me." Now the cat was out of the bag. It had felt like pulling teeth to force these few words out.

"I can't believe this!" Ross exclaimed.

Ross wasn't angry like he'd expected, on the contrary. Sheer childlike surprise was reflected in his face and his outburst stressed it. If he weren't so tense and anxious he probably would've laughed.

"I'd have never considered that…"

A jolt of annoyance rushed through Bobby. _{i}Don't I have the right to find someone? What am I? A monk? An extraterrestrial life form? _This to him strange agressive impulse irritated him.

Ross must've notice it because his expression changed to conciliatory. _Have I said anything of this aloud?_ he wondered.

"It's just… you never showed any sentiments other than… cooperative."

Bobby didn't answer. He didn't know what. That Ross of all people would know it best? My, since when was he so cynic?

"How long is this already going?"

"I don't know… really. But... Jo Gage. Then I could no longer ignore it."

He still remembered how his stomach sunk to his knees and air run short and he felt sick and lightheaded when he saw the blood in Eames' kitchen. On her counter where Jo Gage had smashed her head against and then took her to her hideaway. Where Eames ear witnessed the psyched out woman torture a young woman to death only feet away from her and faced the same fate. Jo had wanted to catch the attention of her profiler father, his mentor Declan, who had always cared more about his career than her. For this reason she'd copied the one killer Declan never caught.

"Gage! That's almost a year ago!"

"Yeah."

Ross wiped his hand over his face, trying to regain his composure. "Does Eames know?"

"Are you serious?"

"Tell her," Ross said with a conviction in his voice that surprised him. "I've witnessed the strain and coldness between you both and if I'm honest it wasn't and_ isn't_ a pretty sight to see you both wear yourself down with work instead of facing this like two adults. This Quinn case was a mess and put a lot of strain on her. I even tried to withdraw her from it but then she probably would've just kept on..." He paused a pensive expression on his face. Well, you might have figured out this whole mess but you certainly ripped open some old wounds. If she wouldn't care she wouldn't behave to you like that. It would only be fair for her to know since it concerns her, too."

Such openness and insight totally perplexed him and left him speechless.

Ross put away his written notice and eyed Bobby.

"I tell you something, Detective. You and Eames talk this out and when you did we will have another talk about this." He patted the envelope.

"Well, Sir, that won't change anything-"

"We'll have another talk about this," Ross repeated in a tone that didn't allow protest, a razor sharp undertone in his sonorant voice that was only too familiar to Bobby. He almost exclusively used it when talking to him. His features softened. "Go home, Detective. I'll see for it that any incoming cases will go to your colleague. Get some sleep, something to eat..." He paused. "Well, you have a whole weekend to find a solution for your personal issues. See you Monday."

With these very clear words of dismissal Bobby rose. Somehow this conversation had been… unreal. He felt like a student who'd been called to the principal's office and just got a lecture. He was incredibly relieved that this very unpleasant meeting was over. He wouldn't have expected that this crucial talk would go so… well. Ross however had totally taken him off guard. He would've never thought that he'd be so… reasonable and even more supportive. He didn't know what he expected but certainly not that.

But only when he closed the door to the Captain's office and turned back to the noisy squad room he realized that this had only been a preliminary exercise to the real thing. He looked around. His colleagues sat at their desks and phoned or wrote reports. Some were in company who they escorted to the interrogation rooms in the back of the squad room. They yelled at each other, asking for and sharing facts about their respective cases or joking, their voice accompanied by the familiar clicking of keyboards. Some went around, to the vending machines outside, the bathroom, to get coffee. Nothing special, just a normal day.

He felt like someone slapped him when his look fell on their joined desks. Eames looked at him, worry etched in her features which had aged too much in the last few weeks. Her hair hung around her face in messy tresses and deep shadows surrounded her dull hazel eyes. Wrinkles had etched deep into the corners of her mouth and forehead.

_Oh, Alex, why can't you just keep on ignoring or snapping at me? That would make things so much easier._

He wanted nothing more than to tell her but the sheer thought of it made him physically sick. He'd always thought that having found someone would make one euphoric and walk on water and not scare the crap out of one. What if she didn't return it? It was likely. A lot had happened between them lately. What if she returned it? What should he do _then_? To admit it to Ross was one thing, but to her directly a totally different. It would be the first time he'd really open up to someone, lay his feelings bare and expose himself in a way he'd never done, never _dared_ it before. He'd be raw and defenseless… she'd have the power to shatter him into pieces with just a few words.

He swallowed and slowly approached his desk. He didn't dare to look at her of fear to say or do something he could regret later… like pouring his heart and mind right here or pull her against him or... worse. He'd never felt something so strange and confusing before and he feared that it'd show when he looked at her. He distracted himself with putting on his jacket and buttoning it up.

"I'll call it a day. See you tomorrow." His voice sounded unfamiliar and distant to him.

"What's wrong, Bobby?"

He wanted to groan with frustration and bad conscience. _Why do you make this so hard, Alex?_

"What do you mean?"

To the worry in her face this familiar "Don't mess with me, I'm not stupid" tone added.

"I'm not blind, Goren. Ross' features derailed! I even saw it from here. What were you talking about?"

"Personal issues."

She blinked. "What-"

He couldn't bear anymore even looking at her. It hurt. He hated himself for putting her through this. He wanted nothing more than to leave, to hide and try to think of a way out of this muddled mess. He wished he knew what to do.

"See you tomorrow, Alex."

He didn't look away quickly enough to miss the hurt and confusion in Eames' face. It was the hardest thing to just turn fully around and walk away. In the elevator he pushed the button to the underground car park and leaned against the wall next to the panel. He felt like scum. She'd opened up to him for the first time in weeks, had cared and expressed worry for him and he shoved her away. He'd feared what he'd do if he stayed therefore he'd run.

The elevator came to a halt. He stepped out and went to his car, a historic MG convertible. He exited the car park on Pearl Street, turned left on Park Row and drove on the ramp of the Brooklyn Bridge a few minutes later. It was shortly after four and the rush hour hadn't set in yet so he made drafty progress. Only fifteen minutes later he parked his car in the driveway of the little house in Brooklyn Heights he'd bought twenty years ago for a ridiculously low price.

It had been a dump due for demolition. He and a few friends had renovated it and turned it into a decent place again. He took a look into the post box and then climbed the slender stairs up to the front door with the massive dark green door. The old one had been a beauty with carefully carved ornaments and small windowpanes. It had been beyond repair, been rotten by the elements it had been exposed to for too long. He closed it behind him and hung his coat in the wardrobe in the hallway. Winter arrived early this year as it looked. In the nights and early mornings it already got bitterly cold.

_My God! _His jaw dropped when he saw his reflection in the mirror surface of the wardrobe door. Now he knew why Eames behaved so civil towards him when she only snapped at him or ignored him the previous weeks.

His graying curls were longer than was good for them, stubble covered his hollow cheeks and dark circles surrounded his dull eyes. His skin had taken on a sickly grayish tone. He'd lost not only too much sleep while lying awake with racing mind at night but also weight he notices surprised. His suit was at one number too big. He felt and looked like a walking dead.

The distraction of work was no longer there and so the tension it provided, the constant change and need to adjust to new situations like desk work, interviews, lab and morgue visits. There wasn't too much time to think about other things. But now… he already sensed the mental loop in his mind being set into motion, the root of what caused the friction between him and Eames.

He sighed and turned away. He knew he couldn't flee these thoughts that'd repeat themselves again and again in his mind so he didn't even try. But that wouldn't keep him from taking a shower and change. He climbed up the stairs to the attic which he had turned into his private realm; bedroom, bathroom and his study. The second floor consisted of a guest room with attached bathroom and two larger rooms he used as "attic".

The large room in the roof proofed to be too precious to stuff it with things that would mould to dust there. In the roof was a dome made of a differently colored glass mosiac under which he'd placed his bed. It was separated from the staircase, bathroom and study by an extra wall he'd let put up during the renovation. On other side the wall was a spacious wardrobe. There he took off his clothes and shoes and let them where they fell on a messy little pile. He took a pair of stonewashed jeans and a gray _John Jay_ sweatshirt and entered the bathroom opposite of the wardrobe.

He turned on the shower and then just stood under the hot jet, let it beat down on his tense neck and shoulders. His body began to relax but his mind run hot. Maybe it was because Ross mentioned the Quinn case during their talk what he had carefully tried to ignore whenever he could, but now he couldn't get away.

_It all began with the brutal murder of Kevin Quinn, a colleague shot during an undercover job. His partner Copa who wasn't present during the actual act identified the gang leader Johnny Sang as the shooter. Copa identified Sang when they reconstructed the crime and later in a line-up. But Copa suffered from a visual defect that made it impossible for him to see clear at night. He barely managed it in plain light…_

_It didn't take long until the Chief of Detectives got wind of his demolition of Copa's identification and gave him hell for it. Paradoxically Ross took side for him then what really had surprised him. It took Eames some overcoming to understand why he had to do it but she supported him._

_He remembered how he drove her to Quinn's funeral the next day. He didn't accompany her in to spare her the hostilities Quinn's relatives and colleagues certainly had against him. That was the last thing she needed. She'd known Quinn personally… So he waited outside, where Copa almost jumped in his face when he noticed him. "I'm riding my desk right now, probably they'll even fire me. Thank you very much, Detective."_

_The last word he spat as if it was some bad taste in his mouth he wanted to get rid of. He had indeed felt guilty for the man's plight. He knew he had humiliated him but it wasn't his fault when he testified knowingly wrong. He could even understand why Copa did it._

_He'd worked at Narcotics before he transferred to Major Case. It was an awful and life-threatening job to work one's way up in the gang hierarchy, win the boss's trust and then wait for the right moment to turn him in. He' done it long enough himself and was tempted to do what Copa did more often than he felt comfortable to admit to himself. When blaming Sang Copa not only cut off the head of his gang but he also used him as a substitute for the real murderer of Quinn. He quickly found his friend's murderer and so made up the fact that he wasn't there to protect him but instead visited his "girlfriend" a few blocks away._

_He thought it couldn't get worse when Quinn's son literally knocked him down when he rammed backwards with his skateboard. He still heard the little boy's voice who'd asked him if he had of this detective who'd let the murderer of his father go. "The Chief says he's a whackjob."_

_He'd felt so guilty and such self-hatred that it almost made him puke. Following the correct procedure in theory was a good thing. In such an explosive case like the Quinn case it was immensely important, probably even more than usual since the victim was one of their own and no one wanted the killer to get away with it. But seeing what it could actually cause made him wonder if it was worth the prize._

_The talk he had with Eames after the reception was both very moving and painful for him. She'd told him about her connection to Quinn already. He'd been her deceased husband's partner. Joe Dutton was killed during a drug deal gone wrong and Quinn had testified against his murderer._

_"You know the strange thing? After Joe's… death all these people I saw again at Kevin's reception were at the hospital with me after he was shot. I got all these offers, you know? 'Whatever you need, just ask. We'll be there for you.' And so on. It only took a short time and no one was there anymore. They'd all forgotten. I saw them again for the first time in **eight** years."_

_Her voice shook with hurt and regret, the knowledge that it probably would be the same with Quinn's widow._

_"You know, after such a loss you just… shut down. When you don't let anyone get near you you must not admit to anyone how you feel... feel at all. You can pretend that… it isn't real. When someone's there who was with you during or shortly after the loss, witnessed it…"_

_He couldn't continue. His own pain and sorrow consumed him and he could barely concentrate on the road anymore. He didn't even know what he was talking about until he'd almost finished._

_The reality of his mother's death had hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. She'd down only four months ago and until that day five weeks ago he'd carefully suppressed it what was hard since he was on paid leave to grief how the officials had put it and he had to get truly creative to keep his inner wall up. But Eames' pain had torn a peace out of it. He couldn't bear her hurting so bad and wanted to comfort her even if it was counterproductive for himself._

_They didn't have much time to deal with their open emotional wounds since another gang war victim turned up, a dealer named Alfred Minaya. He was also familiar to Eames. He'd been the second witness of Joe's murder and he'd also pointed his finger at Ray Delgado who sat in prison for the Dutton murder._

_They'd visited him in Dannemora to question him about the murders. It couldn't be a coincidence that the two men who'd turned him in nine years ago ended up shot dead only four days apart. Delgado didn't admit anything and answered his questions without hesitation._

_However he'd never seen Eames as upset as in the prison. She was so snappy and edgy that he'd feared that she'd jump Delgado in the face any moment. Disgust had shown in her stiff posture and jumpy movements and a hatred he'd never seen before in her radiated from her hazel eyes, turning them into dark, blazing orbs._

_What had worried him was not only that she was angry at him for doubting Delgado's guilt but also that she insisted on Delgado being it. He had to admit that it fit. Dutton and Quinn worked undercover in Delgado's drug ring. Dutton's cover blew up and Delgado shot him. Quinn saw it and testified against him as well as Minaya who was caught a few hours later and thought it smarter to cooperate with the authorities. Additionally Delgado had learned only a few weeks ago that his petition for probation was turned down. So he arranged the murder of the two men who brought him behind bars. Case closed._

_That had been Eames' reality for nine years. Of course she'd defend it tooth and nail. If it proved wrong the life she built after her husband's death would be shattered because she built it on a lie and realizing that would probably be too much for her._

_Her obsession with Delgado worried him. It made her a danger to the case but even more her own peace of mind and her sanity because she urgently wanted to proof her theory and didn't allow. She shut out everything that opposed it. She lost her objectivity and emotional distance it took for their work._

_He'd reopened the Dutton murder. Everything just fit too well, they must've overlooked something. Things were rarely as clear as they looked at first sight. Never in his life would he forget the look on Eames' face when she entered the conference room where he'd prepare the evidence from Joe's murder. He had tried to talk some sense back into her, that they needed to consider **all** dimensions of this complex case to solve it but Eames was too caught up in her loop of denial and defense of it._

_His stomach had turned into a tight knot and his heart clenched when her features contorted in felt and emotional pain and she choked out. "This isn't just one of your damn puzzles, Bobby. This is **my life**." Her voice was high, squeaky and crumbly at the same time. Tears flowed down her cheeks._

_**That** was the moment he realized that he couldn't continue working with Eames. Instead of staying focused on work he'd wanted nothing more than to drag her on his lap, wrap his arms around her and shield her from all evil the world might still have in petto for her. It was this scene, both the real and the imagined one, that kept him sleepless at night for weeks already…_

_Later the same day the result from forensics had arrived and changed everything. Both Minaya and Quinn were shot with the same weapon. It turned out to be a gun that was the standard model of officers in Vietnam. Both the gun and its ammunition weren't produced anymore but the killer had used them what narrowed down the circle of suspects immensely._

_One of the owners of such a rare gun had been an Emilio Delgado who turned out to be Ray Delgado's father. He had nothing against showing them that the weapon was still in his possession, however his grandson Victor, Ray's son. His reaction had been strong and traitorous. He'd tried to talk the old man out of showing the gun to him, Bobby, tried to get away from him. He only stayed because his grandfather told him it would be impolite to leave without greeting a guest._

_Later it turned out that not only the weapon had been gone from its case – what had truly surprised the old man – but even more that it was indeed Victor who had killed both Minaya and Quinn as revenge for turning his father in._

_He was only nine when his father was imprisoned and this day he'd only seen him under observation and separated by bars. The anger and hatred against these two men who took away his father with their statement at court had time to boil for nine years to fill him until it became too much. The refuse of the probation commission to set his father free was the proverbial last drop._

_Victor only confessed after they brought his grandfather in. Then he'd turned from the badass back into the little boy he was once. The change was remarkable. He became fidgety, anxious. He couldn't sit still anymore, almost started to cry… like a frightened child. Then he broke down and confessed. He didn't want his grandfather, the only father figure he'd had for nine years, to go to prison for something he didn't do. So the case was closed, they had their confession… or so it seemed._

_It was an old cigarette butt or more precisely the DNA remnants on it that turned everything upside down. It had been found at the scene of Dutton's murder but the results of the tests nine years ago were inconclusive. A new test with better developed DNA-technology determined that the DNA neither belonged to Ray Delgado nor to Minaya what meant that a third person was present at the scene during the murder. He'd never forget the shock on Eames' face when she realized what that meant. The lie she'd based the decade after her husband's murder on had blown up right into her face. Never had he hated more being right._

_From interviews in the scene he knew that Minaya had had a little "appendix" whenever he was doing "business": a young boy carrying big gun. They'd been inseparable but unfortunately the witness didn't remember specific details._

_They'd gotten the answer they needed when they interviewed Minaya's family again. His mother and sisters had talked voluntarily and abundant about their deceased son and brother and the close connection he'd had to his little cousin, Manny Beltran. The tragic thing wasn't only that he really was Joe Dutton's murderer but also what he had become._

_He was the first member of his family who'd become a doctor. As an emergency surgeon he'd saved hundreds of lives. Joe's shooting had been a tragic accident. He was almost in tears when he told them what really happened._

_Manny who was present during the drug deal. He thought that Joe wanted to draw a weapon and shot him to protect his cousin. He only noticed afterwards that Joe had only drawn his shield to identify himself. He'd become a doctor because of this event. He wanted to make up for the life he took by saving others._

_He'd rarely met a murderer who really had regretted his deed. Eames almost broke down when listening to it. It took her all strength to not melt with the tears she so hard tried to swallow. Her voice sounded raw and strained when she finally informed him that he was arrested. He'd sensed how hard she tried to hate Beltran for taking Joe from her but his confession hadn't let her cold-_

"Shit!" he panted.

The water had long turned cold but he'd been so caught up in his mind that he hadn't noticed. He quickly turned off the water then jumped off the shower cubicle before ripping a big, fluffy towel from the hook and wrapping himself in it. His teeth clattered while he rubbed his body with the towel to get warm again.

His gaze fell into the bathroom mirror. The circles around his eyes and the stubble were still there but his skin had a little healthier color, not so sickly gray anymore. When he was warm enough he wrapped the towel around his waist and covered the lower half of his face with shaving cream. A few minutes later the stubble had disappeared. Well, he couldn't do that with the circles around his eyes but at least he looked like a human being again… almost.

He wiped away the remnants of shaving cream from his face. Then he put on his snuggly clothes and brushed his wet hair back. He'd look like an aging playboy when they'd dry but he had other things on his mind. For example how he should deal with Eames... When he left the bathroom he stopped dead in his tracks.

There, leaning on the banister, stood Alex Eames, giving him an unreadable look.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the long delay, but I was so whacked from the last exams and the tour through half Europe I did with my Dad.

Thanks EVERYONE who's read and reviewed the first two chapters: Hargiteam42, cifan, betty keen, JadeEyes9, judeey, Serienjunkie91, Handmade Freak, Oxiate, YaneDirnt20 and rangergaray.

I promise the next ones will be a) shorter and b) follow up quicker. :D

Sorry for the loads of digging and detail but I'm just such a psycho, loving to explore characters. The story will really _continue_ soon.

Please also don't frown at a bit more - free - realizations of "Amends". Some of those scenes I wrote from memory. *blushes*

So, everything's said... and chapter four already in the making. :D

CHAPTER 3 ~ REFLECTIONS

_I don't only feel like a dead rat I also look like one, _Alex thought sarcastically when she looked in the mirror of the Women's bathroom; after the first shock about her appearance had ceased_._

Her hair hung around her face in slack tresses. The make-up she'd applied in the morning had mostly vanished and no longer hid the deep wrinkles that had etched into the corners of her mouth and eyes and her forehead. Her nose stuck out from between her hollow cheeks like a stiletto and a pair of dull eyes with dark circles around them stared back at her. She looked at least five if not ten years older and she was only thirty-eight.

She turned away, washed her hands, then dug brush and make-up out of her purse. She combed her hair and tied it in a ponytail. Then she reapplied her make-up. It maybe covered the traces the last weeks had left but not took away toll they had taken.

_It began five weeks ago. Kevin Quinn had been her late husband Joe's former partner and also a good friend of hers. He testified against Joe's murderer and so majorly contributed to him being put behind bars._

_It was like déjà vu to see Theresa Quinn at the hospital. She'd seen shock and disbelief, grief and pain in her features… recognition in her eyes. They'd had the same thought that moment and this realization made her pulse quicken. However Theresa didn't answer her call but quickly turned away…_

She put her stuff back into her purse and left for the elevator. Inside she pushed the button for the basement and leaned against the wall next to the panel.

_Bobby had questioned Patrick Copa, Quinn's partner who wasn't present during the shooting. He contradicted himself when it came to his alibi and Bobby didn't let go until he got the truth out of him: that he'd met a few streets north of the crime scene with a hooker he knew for a quickie._

_However that wasn't the reason Copa got so mad at her partner. It was because Bobby dismissed his identification of Johnny Sang as the man who he'd seen running away from the crime scene. Sang was head of one of the rivaling drug circles Quinn and Copa investigated against and him being put away would've been a great success in the Department's war against drugs. Copa however suffered from a visual defect and hadn't been too pleased to be reminded of it by her partner._

_Less than an hour after he'd stormed off the Chief of Detectives appeared. It amazed her how stoic Bobby had taken the Chief's tirade and how he defended his point. It was a miracle that the Chief didn't fire him right away due to the stress Bobby's... special nature caused on the executive floor. To her greatest surprise and according to his disbelieving look also surprising for him, Ross had backed him up although this would have been a great opportunity to get rid of his greatest trouble shooter- _

The elevator came to a halt with a jerk and a low "pling" and the doors slid apart. She exited and went to her car. She got in but didn't fasten the seatbelt. Her mind drifted back to the confrontation with Quinn's wife…

_She'd driven to the Quinn house to talk to Theresa._

_"I never told you," Theresa said, "but nine years ago… after seeing you in the hospital when Joe…" her voice broke and she took a shaky breath "I was relieved that it hit you and not Kevin and me." She burst into tears._

_She was dumbfounded, not sure what to answer._

_"I k-know I-I'm h-horrible," sobbed Theresa and gave her a pleading look, "but I j-just-"_

_"It's okay," she'd assured her and put her arm around her shoulders._

_"R-really?"_

_"I probably would've felt the same."_

_They fell silent. Theresa's crying slowly ceased. Finally she raised her head and gave her a piercing look._

_"Patrick called me. Is it true that your partner let the man who shot Kevin go?"_

_She'd hesitated. If she agreed she'd automatically denounce her partner and it could have drastic consequences for Bobby. She didn't want that. Despite his carelessness for the rules he always stayed loyal to her and tried to adapt for her sake. It would be illoyal. When she bent the truth a bit however Theresa not necessarily would notice it but she would feel shabby for having done so. The woman had just lost her husband and had stuck with her after she'd lost hers._

_"Patrick has an eye defect, Theresa," she finally answered, "he could've never clearly recognized the man who ran away from their car. He could barely in plain light. Even if we would've turned a blind eye it would've come out at court." She paused briefly. "I can't promise you that we'll get him, but we – my partner {i}and{/i} I – will do anything we can to get him."_

_Theresa didn't buy it but she didn't say anything, only gave her a skeptic look and a slight nod._

She'd meant every word and cleared the obstacle well enough, but there was still a foul taste about it. She sighed and started the engine and navigated the SUV out of the narrow underground car park. One block before the ramp to the bridge she had to stop at a red light…

Bobby had driven her to Quinn's reception the next day. When he'd parked the SUV opposite of the Quinn house he'd hesitated.

_"What?" she asked._

_"Go inside alone. I assume they wouldn't be too happy to see me in there and... I won't ask that of you."_

_A warm feeling rushed through her at his consideration for her, but a also sadness because he couldn't express his condolences like everyone else. His procedure with Copa had indeed annoyed many colleagues and Copa didn't exactly contribute to making it stop, on the contrary. _

_"You're sure?"_

_"Yeah, I'll wait here."_

_Being at Kevin's reception felt unreal. It mirrored Joe's, only that it wasn't her who received comforting words or got told funny stories of the deceased. She condoled with Theresa again, her children, Kevin's friends. They all recognized her and were grateful for her words. Some even asked her how she was doing. Most of them knew about Joe and had been at the hospital with her nine years ago._

_"You know the strange thing?" she asked Bobby when they drove back to work. "After Joe's… death all these people I saw again at Kevin's reception were at the hospital with me after he was shot. I got all these offers, you know? 'Whatever you need, just ask. We'll be there for you.' And so on. It only took a short time and no one was there anymore. They'd all forgotten. I saw them again for the first time in {i}eight{/i} years."_

_She felt the hurt from then again and regret that it probably would be the same with Theresa. She vowed silently that she'd not forget. She'd felt so lost and forsaken then…_

_Bobby nervously cleared his throat, shifting restlessly in his seat, his large hands clutching to the wheel so firm that his knuckles turned white._

_"You know, after such a loss you just… shut down. When you don't let anyone get near you you mustn't admit to anyone how you really feel… feel at all. You can pretend that… it isn't real. When someone's there who was with you during or shortly after the loss, witnessed it…"_

_His already strained voice finally broke and he briefly covered his eyes with his large hand. He didn't look at her and swallowed a few times. Then he took in a shaky breath._

That moment she realized how much it took him to say these few words. He'd forced them out, wasn't ready yet to talk about it, but did nevertheless to give her comfort. He'd strictly refused to talk about his mother's death before therefore it meant a lot to her that he at least then let his walls down and shared this bit with her. It made these few moments even more precious and almost intimate.

Loud honking rudely snapped her back to reality. She gasped and flinched. "My God – I'm already gone!" she snarled, stepped on the gas and sped up the ramp of the Brooklyn Bridge. "Oh {i}no{/i}!" she groaned when she saw the still rows of cars. That was the last thing she needed now! Usually the drive to Brooklyn Heights took about fifteen minutes but with the traffic it'd take at least twice as long. While she crawled over the bridge at a walking pace her mind wandered back to the Quinn investigation.

_They'd been assigned to a new murder concerning a gang member. Alfred Minaya had also testified against Joe's murderer. He'd been caught by a patrol after fleeing the crime scene and decided it was smarter to cooperate with the authorities._

You really don't do things half way, Delgado. But why now after nine years? _She was totally convinced that the man who had murdered her husband was also responsible for the murders of the two men whose statements brought him behind bars. It couldn't be just a coincidence. Her partner agreed and they drove to Dannemora to question him._

_The moment she saw Delgado all what she'd tried to suppress and keep under control forced itself back into her mind. Images of Joe and her together, like spotlights, suddenly replaced by his pale face with bluish lips and the ugly wound in his stomach where the bullets had hit him._

_She barely could hold back when she saw these empty black eyes, his smug smile and voice saying with fake surprise that she was the last he'd expected to see. She almost jumped in his face. She wanted to shout out all her hurt and hatred, sorrow and grief at him, beat him until he understood what he'd done to her._

_Bobby, sensing the uproar in her, took over the interrogation, and Delgado, obviously disturbed by her presence, eagerly turned to him. She couldn't bear the lies that dropped from Delgado's lips and left. Even less she could stand the fact that Bobby obviously believed him._

_"Come on, Eames. There was no sign that he lied about his whereabouts during the murder. What he told made sense, there was no contradiction, nothing that directly hints at him."_

_"Do you imply that Kevin lied about this?" She was dumbfounded. "That you believe this slug in there more than a colleague?"_

_"I imply nothing. Kevin was exposed to a lot of stress and his testimony… would've served both the case and solving the death of his partner-"_

_"It was Delgado, basta! Joe and Kevin investigated undercover in Delgado's business. Joe's cover blew up and Delgado shot him. Kevin saw it and testified against him as well as Minaya. Their statements majorly contributed to put him behind bars. Last month his petition for appeal was turned down again. He ordered someone to kill them. Everything fits, what else do you need?"_

_He didn't reply, only shook his head what annoyed her even more. The look he gave her was something between alarm, worry and disappointment, maybe sadness. She didn't care, was too caught up in herself._

_Her stomach had clenched into a tight knot when Ross called her into his office and talked about taking her off the case because of her personal involvement. That was the last thing she wanted and she really put her back into convincing him to let her stay. Ross finally gave in but only with the promise that she'd cooperate more with her partner._

_She'd left Ross' office to go looking for Bobby and trying to convince him that she was right. How could he not see it? It was so clear. Why was he looking for things that weren't there? She'd found him in a conference room. She felt like sucker-punched when she saw the cork wall that was used for case presentations. She couldn't believe it. Joe's murder had nothing to do with their current case so why did he have to drag it back to the surface? She couldn't believe that he hurt her like that. She didn't even listen to him trying to justify himself. There was no excuse for this blow._

_"This isn't just one of your damn puzzles, Bobby! This is_ **my life.**_"_

_Her voice cracked and_ _she couldn't hold back her tears. She would've burst with hurt and regret, anger and sadness about his betrayal. She still remembered how he paled, pressed his lips together and his hands so firm onto the table that they'd turned white, the compassion in his dark brown eyes and the pain because of her attack._

_The first lab results arrived. It turned out that both victims had been shot with the same weapon, a rare model that had only been produced and used by officers during the Vietnam War. The gun led them to a certain Emilio Delgado. She'd felt a perverse glee of satisfaction – after all this results strengthened her theory of Ray Delgado as initiator of the shootings – and almost sneered at Bobby. This urge however quickly ceased after they drove to the Delgado residence to interview Emilio. The old man suffered from advanced Parkinson and took heavy meds which made him physically unable to commit the shootings. She couldn't believe it. The new facts had fit so well. Daddy shot the men who'd put his son behind bars with their statements, his anger fueled by the petition for appeal being rejected by the parole board once again. The friendly, calm and most of all cooperative old man with the shaking limps just didn't fit._

_Later they drove to the evidence storage unit in Queens because it wasn't too far away from the Delgado residence. She wanted to see through the evidence of Joe's murder. She knew that it was self-destructive but she couldn't help it. A listless officer told them after less than a half-hearted search that he couldn't find "the stuff"._

_"Well, then go and look again," Bobby ordered._

_"Hey…"_

_"Listen, pal, I have no problem with coming with you. I'll tear the whole place apart until I find the box my partner _Detective_" the officer had only called her a scornful 'lady' "Eames wants to see. You've heard of the latest events? Quinn?" The officer nodded slightly confused, then it hit him who was talking to him and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Well, I _am_ a whack job and you certainly don't want a sample of it; and now go back and only come back with that box!"_

_The officer trotted off, cursing him under their breath. She'd almost forgiven him then._

_"Thank you," she whispered._

_He only gave her that shy little smile he seemed to have reserved for her and nodded._

_A few minutes later the officer returned with the evidence of Joe's case. Bobby began to shift restlessly next to her. He'd narrowed his eyes and gnawed on his lower lip._

_"What's up?" she wanted to know._

_"I just had an idea," he answered absently. "Do you care if I go after it and pick you up later?"_

_"Oh-kay…" she said, drawling the word, hoping that he'd fill her in. But he just turned away with a half-hearted "Bye"._

_Later she was glad that she was alone in the large evidence room, surrounded by shelves full of similar cartons all containing the remnants of other lives which had been ended violently. No one saw how cautious she acted with the evidence. As if they were jewelry or porcelain, old, precious and fragile. Carefully she'd taken each item out of the box and placed it on the table before her: his clothes, the cartridges of the projectiles which had killed him, his gun... No one saw how her knees buckled and she sank on the single chair, crying silent and heavily, her face buried in his bloody shirt, sensing his still familiar smell, giving in to the memories that overwhelmed her._

_When Bobby picked her up later she was amazed at how busy he'd been. He'd returned to the Delgado residence to get a glance at Emilio's gun. The gun hadn't been there and Emilio seemed truly upset about its absence. She was pissed at Goren for reopening Joe's case but she trusted his judgment. He often acted like the first man but he could read those around him like books. She'd never met anyone before who had such profound knowledge of the human nature._

_Emilio's grandson Victor had been there. When he learnt who Bobby was he became very nervous and tried to get away. When he asked him directly if he knew where the gun could be Victor ran. That was it. He'd called for back-up and a patrol had caught Victor a few blocks further. Bobby had managed to convince Emilio that he'd do anything possible to get Victor fair treatment and then told him about his plan. Emilio wasn't pleased but agreed. That was also a great talent of Goren. He had a knack for finding peoples' weak spot and using it to his advantage._

_"Where are they?"_

_"At Police Plaza. I made sure that they're kept separated. Gotten there in different patrol cars and Victor doesn't know that we also brought his Granddad in. Maybe we don't even need Emilio; that would be the best. He looked at me as if I made him choose between plague and cholera."_

_"Understandable. When it was Victor he wants to protect him. He already lost his son; he wants to keep at least his grandson on the right track." Goren wasn't the only one who knew a bit about the human nature._

_Back at Police Plaza Bobby questioned Victor in a glazed conference room. She sat at her desk a few feet away and watched them. It was pathetic how Victor tried to act cool and how at the same time his chin and lower lip quivered. _A little kid, wanting to be a badass.

_For a split second Bobby made eye contact with her before turning back to Victor. She nodded at the two uniforms in the corridor outside the squad room like he'd asked her to. The two cops led Emilio Delgado in while she entered the conference room._

_"Goren, you've had your fun. Stop messing up the kid. Delgado Senior was just brought up from ID."_

_Bobby pulled a face like a disobedient kid who's Mom had taken away its favorite toy to punish it._

_"That's Grandpa!"_

_Victor jumped up when he saw Emilio. The two officers pretended to remove handcuffs from his wrists._

_"What is he doing here?" Victor's voice shook with helpless anger and he got a panicked look in his dark eyes._

_"Well, his gun was used to kill Quinn and Minaya." Bobby shrugged. "He claimed he did it."_

_"But it was me! He has nothing to do with it!"_

_"C'mon, Goren, he only wants to brag. We're wasting time here."_

_Bobby got up and followed her._

_"No it was me, _me, ME!" Victor's voice cracked. "He _has nothing to do with it!" He cried by now._

_Bobby nodded and she went over to the officers so they'd "release" Emilio._

_Victor's motive was indeed revenge. The anger and hatred towards Kevin and Minaya had boiled in him for nine years, since his father was put behind bars. He didn't know why his father was taken away from him. He only knew that his father was gone and that the two men he shot were responsible for it because of their testimony. The last drop that made him snap was the petition for appeal that the parole board had refused his father. _

_She could understand Victor to some extent. If it had been _her _father... she wouldn't _have reacted_ that violent but certainly _thought_ about how it would be to punish those who would've taken him away from her. She would've had a great hatred in her as well... But otherwise Victor had taken away a husband from his wife, a father from his son as well, a son who'd done nothing to him, whom he didn't even know and who ended up as traumatized as he was once and... yes, a close friend of hers. Therefore her understanding kept within... limits to put it mildly. _

_After Victor had been taken away, the case seemed closed. They'd gotten their confession and that was it. Later that day however they got a call from the crime lab that changed everything._

_A cigarette butt found at the site of Joe's murder had been tested, but DNA tests had been inconclusive back then. Bobby had the butt tested again. The Crime Scene Technician informed them that the DNA neither belonged to Ray Delgado nor to Alfred Minaya. The reality of the third man… hadn't reached her. She'd shut down emotionally, switched back into investigator mode. That had made getting through the investigation till the bitter end more bearable. What Ross had earlier openly denied her now kicked back in: emotional distance._

_They got the final lead from the Minaya family, that at the time the crime occurred Alfred and his young cousin Manny were inseparable._

_Her stomach had rolled and churned when she'd faced the man who'd murdered her husband for the first time: an idealistic, bright surgeon in his mid-twenties, a life _saver_, no longer a life_taker_. While she listened to Bobby gently leading the young man back to the night nine years ago she had to muster the little strength still in her to not lose it completely. She almost did when Beltran realized what her partner was talking about and burst into tears._

_"My God, I didn't want to _murder_ him! You have to believe me. I wasn't even sixteen… I was so messed up back then. My cousin… Alfred was my best friend, my confidant._

_I know it's nuts but I felt… like I _belonged_ to something, some_one_. I tumbled through life with no purpose and nowhere to go and then… I found a place where I was welcomed and acknowledged. I didn't care who or what they were. I even found it cool." He shook his head._

_"That night I went with Alfred and… Delgado?" she nodded, unable to speak because of the huge lump in her throat. "They met with a man… to do business. Alfred told me to stay in the background. Suddenly the three started to argue and the man stuck his hand into his pocket…_

_At the place Delgado and Alfred hung out were lots of guns and I… felt cool and important when I held them and such and so… I took one. I shot the guy… Later I read in the papers that he only wanted to pull his shield. But I didn't know that! I thought he pulled a gun and wanted to protect my cousin. Please, it was an accident!"_

_She could barely hold back her tears. An accident! Her life had been destroyed, her _love_ ripped away from her by a stupid kid. She wanted to hate him so badly for it, but she couldn't. The young doctor, swimming in tears, confessing so voluntary, giving her the answers she so desperately yearned for, so eagerly, took even that away from her._

_"Manny Beltran," she'd announced in a flat, almost mechanical voice she barely recognized as her own "you're arrested for the murder of Joseph Dutton."_

_"I didn't even know who he was, if he had a wife or children…" His voice finally cracked._

We never had a chance to find out, _she thought,_ _then took a deep breath to regain control about her raging emotions before saying aloud: "He was a damn good cop."_

The traffic slowly dissolved and less than ten minutes later she turned into his street and parked. She killed the engine but didn't get out. Instead she looked around.

Directly to her right was an iron banister, separating a promenade from the street. Benches were scattered about it and old people or couples, baby carriages "parked" next to them, or with children sat in the sun and talked to each other. Others walked or bladed the promenade, again others cycled on a separate cycle track. She looked beyond it, over the East River to Governor's Island and Liberty Island far off. She quickly turned away again because the sun sparkling on the water blinded her.

To her left slender houses in decked colors with beautiful ornaments on their facades and neatly trimmed front yards stood in row. Several cars passed hers. The drivers looked at her – curious, suspicious, some annoyed. Some of them were greeted by their families, wives and children. It was a quiet, idyllic little oasis in the jungle called New York City, where the world still was intact. The last place one would expect Robert Goren to live. Everything seemed so average, almost bourgeois and Bobby wasn't both.

She hesitated. Of course she wanted to talk to him, wanted to hear with her own ears what he'd told Ross. On the other hand she wasn't sure at how to approach him.

They once could read each other's minds, knew each other's needs or how to work a subject or crime scene. They'd been in tune. She'd gotten a glimpse at that again when they'd tricked Victor into confessing the shootings of Quinn and Minaya. It had hurt to watch Bobby coaxing it out of him. It had reminded her of the time not too long ago. It seemed so far away now, so unreachable... She felt tears sting in her eyes. She blinked several times to clear her vision and took in a shaky breath.

Now they were more estranged than they'd even been in their first year, when she'd still been taken aback and, yes, sometimes disgusted, of Bobby's tics and quirks. They looked at each other with both suspicion and yearning, but none of them had the nerve to take the first step to overcome the abyss between them. They didn't dare to talk to each other out of fear that the little bit that kept them together would totally dissolve then and leave them totally disconnected.

The Quinn case wasn't the only reason. He'd to take a lot in the last year and a half and it had also affected her.

There'd been the Sebastian case a year ago. The serial killer seemingly had returned after years of inactivity, but several inconsistencies in the new murders hinted at a copycat. It turned out to be one. Jo Gage, the daughter of her partner's mentor Declan had kidnapped her to get her father's attention. She'd managed to free herself and call for help but seeing her partner blaming himself for not finding her in time was tough. No matter how hard she tried to make him see that it wasn't his fault but Jo's, she failed repeatedly what left her frustrated and confused.

The next blow to their cracking partnership was Mark Ford Brady, a serial rapist and murderer. Only days before his execution he had decided to talk about those victims who'd never been found. He'd hoped to get away from the deadly needle that way. However he'd not chosen the direct way but only given them cryptic hints at the evidence he'd hidden.

They'd found two photo albums among other things. One of them was dated in the eighties and showed not only the victims for whose murders he'd been sentenced but also a few more young women no one knew about yet. The second was dated back in the sixties, but to their great surprise most of the women they traced were still alive and well.

What made it personal for Bobby was that it also contained shots of his own mother what implied that Brady and Frances Goren had known each other personally. Of course he wanted this to have cleared but Frances refused to talk about Brady. She couldn't understand why Bobby must wake sleeping dogs and punished him with stubborn ignorance. He only got her as far as to admit that along the time the shots were made she had trouble in her marriage and turned to other men, Brady among them. She'd died that night, her mind eaten up by schizophrenia, her body by aggressive cancer.

Bobby had been inconsolable. He would only communicate with her on a strictly professional plane. When she'd try to make him talk about it he'd shut down and ignored her. She knew that he suffered, eaten up by grief, regret and loneliness. She'd wanted to comfort him and guide him out of the darkness that slowly consumed him. His relationship to his mother had always been troubled – that she'd gotten him to admit once – but nevertheless he'd loved her and her death was a heavy blow.

His rejection had hurt her badly. She cared for him. He was so special to her and she was so happy being able to finally call him her friend. She wanted to show him by sticking with him and that he wasn't alone in the world, that he still had her and she wouldn't let him fall.

She'd shut down as well. She was fed up with being shoved away all the time. They'd buried themselves in work and ignored each other's needs beyond it, soon reaching the awkward status quo that was now strengthened after the latest events…

The circumstantial evidence in the Quinn case had been ambivalent what had made it so easy for her to bend it to her liking. For her Ray Delgado had murdered her husband, period. There was a seemingly rock solid verdict that confirmed it. She'd lived with that reality for nine years, laboriously built a new life on it.

As long as the image she'd built her life on after her husband's death was still intact she could pretend that she'd gotten over it. She considered everything and everyone who or what contradicted her theory about the murders, one free of Ray Delgado, as personal affront and reacted as such.

Ross had only seen a danger for the investigation in her. She almost laughed as she remembered her flimsy excuses to convince him to let her stay: that she was familiar with all concerned parties, that it was too time consuming to fill in a new investigator, her experience. _Emotional distance and objectivity, my ass! _She snorted.

Bobby however had really worried about her, had sensed the reason behind her obsession with Delgado. What she'd considered betrayal when he seemingly doubted her and even stronger when he reopened Joe's case was his reaction to her obsessively clinging to the false reality she'd built up to be able to live on.

What she'd encountered as mistrust and misunderstanding had been his try to open her eyes. He'd known somehow that the fateful little bit of info from the crime lab would come sometime and tried knock some sense back into her before it was too late. He'd tried to make her see the truth that was too hard for her to face. She'd punished him for finally giving her what she'd actually yearned for almost a decade. But her own lie blowing up right into her face had hurt too bad to see beyond it, to see his real intent: giving her the opportunity to close the chapter Joe, to finally let him rest in peace, get some peace herself.

After what she'd learned earlier from Ross she understood better why he'd acted like he did: he'd not taken all the crap she'd thrown at him during and after the investigation because he was her partner and friend and sensed he had to but because he loved her! Although she hadn't known she felt shabby as hell. But she was also pissed because she felt this way.

She swallowed and opened her seatbelt. She opened the door and hesitantly got out. Although the sun was shining it was a cool day and the stiff breeze immediately tugging at her pantsuit made her shiver. But even more did the idea of confronting him. Actually it surprised her that he'd told Ross of all people since they were at daggers drawn with each other - and not **her** directly.

She leaned back into the SUV, gripped her purse from the passenger's seat and slammed the driver's door shut. She locked it and then stomped towards his door, getting more and more agitated.

She couldn't bear this emotional rodeo anymore. It was almost as if he was afraid of nearness, of emotions. _In general or just those he has for me? _Whenever he'd let his protection wall fall and given her a glimpse at him he'd quickly rebuilt it and she could begin at zero in trying to tear it down again. She'd seen several times in the past how he reacted when someone held the pistol to his head but that she was willing to risk. She had every right to do so in her eyes. She deserved clarity, especially since she was concerned directly.

She climbed up the narrow stairs to his door. No flowers or flower beds in the frontyard, just a cockeyed white post box, the lawn in urgent need of a mow (what surprised her since he was almost obsessively neat) and a bare, dull brass banister. She rang the bell, waited a few seconds, then rang it again... and again. No answer.

"Stop that shit, Goren!" she called furiously and pounded on the massive green door. "I know you're home! Your car stands in the driveway."

The metallic green MG convertible had left her speechless when she found out. She'd seen and admired it often in the underground car park at Police Plaza but never known that it was his. From the few times she'd made the mistake to let Bobby drive she wouldn't have thought that he even possessed a driver's license. The man drove like a cab driver! Or like someone who was suicidal… but wasn't that synonym? Secretly she'd always been happy to arrive at the destination in one piece.

"You won't get away _that_ easily!" She fumbled her key ring out of her purse and began rousing through the keys. When she'd found the right one she shoved it into the key hole. A few moments later she stood in his hallway and slammed the door shut behind her. The bang echoed through the hallway. No reaction.

"What the hell…?" she wondered. "Bobby?" she called. No answer. She shook her head. Where was he?

She took a few steps into the hallway. A little table stood next to a mirrored door. It was covered with knick-knack: mail, a key ring, a portable phone. At the end of the short, narrow corridor she saw cupboards and working surfaces through an half open door. To her right the reddish – orange light from the already setting sun fell through a large passage a few feet away from her and lured her to take a look. It was then that she heard it. The silence was broken by a distant pattering and rush of water. He didn't hide from her; he was only taking a shower and therefore didn't hear her. She chuckled at her own paranoia.

She turned, went back and stopped at the foot of narrow stairs leading upstairs. She hesitated, unsure what to do. Should she stay here and wait until he was finished? Or go upstairs and…?

She decided for the latter. That contained the most surprise. Actually it was childish but after seven years she understood to some extent how he ticked. He could adapt incredibly quick to new situations. Connected with his talent to avoid difficult subjects the element of surprise was her only chance. When she caught him off guard he probably didn't have the chance to shut down and shove her away again. She had the strong idea that he would because emotions were a tricky thing for him.

First hesitant than with more confidence she climbed up the stairs to the second floor. It was dark and no light beyond the reddish glow from the crack of a door at the end of the corridor lightened up the darkness. She felt for a light switch, found it next to her at the wall. She saw four closed doors, all ornamented and painted in burgundy red. The walls were painted in white and bare. No pictures like in her house or that of her parents or siblings or paintings. Naked, almost neglected. Solely a place to sleep and probably eat. She cocked her head. The sound of running water sounded nearer, but still distant. She looked up. The rushing came from there… the attic. _When he has his private space up in the roof then what's here? _she wondered briefly but resisted her curiosity. She wasn't here to find out the way he lived or why... at least not primarily.

Instead she climbed up the stairs to the attic. She wanted answers and she wanted them now. She almost burst with nervous anticipation and brooding anger at him for keeping it from her. Loving someone wasn't something bad. Why did he act as if it was? Why this secrecy? She just didn't get it.

She was greeted again by ornamented, burgundy red doors. The one directly left to the stairs was open. She stopped at the doorframe and peeked into the room, gasped with surprise. The dome at the ceiling immediately caught her attention. The sun shone on it and bathed the room in a mosaic of green, red, blue and orange. Directly under it stood a king sized bed with a dark comforter - blue, black, brown, maybe violet; because of the sunlight and the reflections of the dome she couldn't see it clearly -, a night stand with a little lamp on it next to it. At the opposite wall facing it was a narrow sideboard with a TV on it. Around the walls a narrow shelf was built into the structure, filled with books, both paperback and hard covers. She chuckled. No wonder her partner spilled with info. Her head would've exploded if she'd only read a fraction them. But she'd bet a month's salary that these weren't even **all** books he possessed… Around the room small windows and a bigger round one on the far wall next to the bed let in the orange glow from the setting sun.

Suddenly the shower was turned off and the silence broken by a hearty "Shit!" She quickly backed away into the corridor, feeling a little caught. She gripped the banister made of dark, massive wood and slowly stepped closer to the door in the middle rear of the corridor. She leaned against the banister and waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Suddenly it opened.

She jumped and so did he. His eyes widened – for an instant she meant to see horror in them - and his jaw dropped. He didn't expect her. She was surprised as well. She'd never seen him wearing something different than a suit… or uniform the day of Quinn's reception. Seeing him in dark, tight jeans and a grey sweatshirt with still wet hair caught her off guard as well.

"Alex!" He looked at her as if he was seeing a ghost. "What-"

"We must talk." She'd caught herself by now, was focused on them again.

He tensed up like earlier in the squad room and dropped his gaze. _Guilty. Caught._ A frown furrowed his forehead when his eyebrows rose slightly. He pressed his lips together and slowly shook his head. It didn't look as if he'd refuse himself but more as if he wanted to clear his mind. When he looked up she saw how it worked behind his forehead, saw it in his frown and slightly narrowed eyes. His reaction had shown her that he knew why she was here, especially that he didn't ask how she'd gotten in.

He was battling with himself and she considered that a good sign, although it made her sad at the same time. Why was everything so complicated with him? Why did she put up with that, with _him_, at all? Partly because she understood his dilemma. He feared that she'd shove him away when he opened up because of what had built up between and separated them now. When he'd open up he'd be totally dependent on her reaction and he didn't want to expose himself to her possible rejection. Suddenly she had the strong idea that this attitude of his majorly contributed to the communication problem between them what lastly caused the strain of their partner – and friendship.

"Eames," he said with a pressed voice and an almost pleading look in his eyes. He tried so hard but it paled compared to the rush of helpless anger at his response that suddenly rushed through her.

"Don't 'Eames' me!" she gushed out. "Stop shutting me out, Bobby! I can't stand it anymore. It makes me so sick! It hurts me and I don't deserve that. Partners and friends don't do this to each other. You… You mean so much to me and I can't stand seeing you put yourself through all this crap. Whatever it is you can tell me. I won't judge you and I won't leave, I promise. I want to help you, but I can't when I don't know what's wrong. You maybe can read minds but I can't so please, finally _talk to me_!"

She was shocked at how close she'd come to admitting not only her feelings to him but also that she knew about his. The shock about her verbal attack in his features vanished, slowly replaced by realization… and resignation. He knew that he couldn't back away now. Well, of course he could, but if he really was serious concerning his feelings for her he wouldn't, even less after her reassurance. She'd meant every word and hoped that she had finally reached him.

"Okay," he said in that same pressed voice and gave her a strained smile. "We'll talk…Alex."

Her heartbeat skipped for a split second at hearing him say his first name. "Here?"

"No, downstairs." Instead of leading the way he suddenly got fidgety. His left leg began to twitch and his bare foot to lightly tap on the wooden floor, a nervous habit of his. "Would you go ahead and... give me a few minutes?"

"Oh no, Goren! You just try to figure a way out of this. I won't allow this."

"I promise you I won't but… please Alex. I... I need this time."

His broad features contorted as if he was in pain and he wiped his hand over his face before dropping it at his side. Her heart clenched at this sight. He looked so exhausted, so much older than forty – five. It was not only because of the graying hair, the loss of weight or the current strain but also because of that constant inner fight in him she didn't understood but that seemed to rage in him all the time, slowly crumbling him inside.

She was about to resist when she saw this pleading look again. She had no idea why he asked that of her and even less why she followed but slowly she backed away to the stairs, began her descent. His dark eyes never left her face until she was out of sight. At the foot of the stairs in the second floor she listened. She heard his bare feet pat along the corridor above her head, then a low squeal when he opened a door. The ceiling above somewhere left of her creaked lowly under his weight. The room at the opposite end of the attic to the right of the bathroom... _What's there and what's he doing in there?_ She briefly considered going back and look but instead she continued her decent wondering what the hell was going on and what to expect from what was about to follow.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, guys, here we go. It's the last chapter before "the talk" follows. Bobby's in his study and tries to gather the nerve to go down and finally answer all questions Alex might have ever had.

It can take a little longer for the update because college starts soon and I have so many muses bouncing in my head that I first must let them out before I can return to this one.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing. :)

CHAPTER 4 ~ COUNTDOWN

He'd thought he hallucinated when he came out of the bathroom and saw Eames leaning against the banister, obviously waiting for him. Never in his life would he have expected that she'd follow him.

Bobby sat in the old brown leather chair; his feet rested on the desktop. He stared through the round window facing the promenade, Manhattan and New Jersey in the distance. But he didn't really see it as little as the fierce red glow of the fireball slowly disappearing beyond the horizon and illuminating the sky in all shades of red, orange, pink, golden and yellow.

He'd felt so many emotions rushing through him that moment. He was thrilled, delighted, scared, frightened, confused, hopeful, sad and felt guilty as hell. It began to piss him off. Why couldn't he be just normal? Why did he always hurt her when he actually wanted nothing more than… what? What did he actually want?

He loved her. At least he thought it was love. He had never felt something like that before he met her. She'd gotten through to him in a way he'd rarely allowed people to. He didn't want to bond with her. He'd thought it wouldn't last, that she soon would leave again, tired, grossed out and scared away by the department's whack job number one. He'd given her a week, maximum. Now they neared their seventh year.

He never wanted to let her near him, feared her rejection. His previous partners had reacted like that. Not letting them in at all had indeed helped because it upheld the illusion that it wouldn't hurt. That was bull! Of course it hurt, denying it or not.

Involuntarily his mind wandered back to the Garrett case. The judge and his perverted teenager son had had a faible for school girls, raped murdered them and hidden behind the power of his position. He had despised the man like nothing before because he had tramped on everything he believed in.

No one symbolizes the law as much as a judge… and Garrett was a shame! He'd sent a PI to Carmel Ridge to interrogate his dying mother. Frances had worked herself up into a hysterical fit and had to be sedated. After learning that he'd gone straight to Garrett's office. He'd almost punched that triumphant, smug smile off his face.

During a hearing at court later during the investigation it turned up that Alex had written a notice after about four months into their then still rocky partnership. Something in him had cracked then. He'd felt so betrayed and it had felt as if she ripped his heart out again and again while he'd sat in the audience and listened to a teary Eames who was forced to read it aloud by Garrett's attorney.

It had hurt so badly because he'd let her in, even let out a few snippets of his past to her. The whole time she'd sought his eyes but he'd refused to look at her. She'd tramped on the trust he had in her. Carver had given her the occasion to explain it. She'd even come after him, begging him to listen to her and letting her explain it. It had reached his mind but he had refused himself to her after this episode for a long time.

After they just began to grow closer again hell literally had broken lose.

First Jo Gage had kidnapped Alex. The hairs on the back of his neck and on his forearms stood up and a chill crept down his spine at the sheer idea. He thought he'd lost her for good after he found the blood in her house. It had almost horrified him into immobility that sometime he'd find her, tied up and tortured to death somewhere. He almost broke down with relief after he'd entered her hospital room and seen her with his own eyes.

Then in rapid succession Mark Ford Brady and his mother's reluctant revelation about her changing affairs with men during her marriage, her agonizing death and like the icing on the cake of mental hell called his life the Quinn case. He as well as their partnership had barely had time to recover from the vicious blows they were confronted with, had been and still were in inner uproar.

It amazed him to no end that she was there, had followed him and wanted to talk. He wondered about the sudden change. He'd tried so often in the last few weeks and also earlier to talk to her. He'd worried about her. Quinn had brought up some straining truths, especially for her. The life after Joe she'd built blew up right into her face and he had initiated it. She'd just shut down and shoved him away and it had hurt. He'd wanted to be there for her, comfort her, protect her...

He felt his pulse accelerate. Did she do it on purpose? Did she pay him back by reflecting his own behavior, by letting him feel how she felt when he refuse to talk to her? It dawned on him how often he must have refused himself to her. But he hadn't done it to hurt her purposely. On the contrary, he'd remained silent to protect her.

It was enough that he had to live with his past and the scars it had left. He didn't want to burden her with it as well.

Over and over again in the last seven years Eames had tried to include him in her family activities, holidays and such and when he'd backed away at least shared these experiences with him. He'd both craved and feared it. Alex had been his strongest connection to the normal life he'd known he'd never have. He'd wanted nothing more than to be normal, to be normal for her so that she probably once would…

Even more he'd feared it however because it made him even more aware of the broken home he grew up in and that had shape him into the man he was now. He began to question himself. Had it been right to do so? Alex had often accused him of lacking trust in her in the last years. He sensed that she was right. He'd patronized her by shutting her out and justifying it with protecting her peace of mind. He'd only sought the easy way out, trying to protect himself by forbidding himself any emotional nearness to others out of fear to get hurt. He was a damn coward!

His stomach twisted.

No, it wasn't right that way. Beneath the adult façade he wasn't a genius many claimed him to be or the profiler or the decorated Major Case Detective. He was a child, a hurt child. A neglected and suppressed child. He swallowed hard. Yes, an abused child. He felt bile rise behind his sternum after finally allowing the obvious to sink into his consciousness and swallowed hard and repeatedly to keep it down.

That was what he wanted to keep from her. He felt ashamed for what he was, for where he came from. Even death he feared less than Eames probably letting him fall like a hot potato when she found out about it. He wasn't so presumptuous to believe that her childhood had been all rosy but it couldn't have been such a living hell as his. Could she understand it? Could he make it clear to her? He could live with it… because he must, that is. But her, could she?

What did she say? That he could entrust himself to her about everything? That she wouldn't judge him and most of all wouldn't leave him. That she wanted to help him. That this was what friends, partners would do for each other. He wanted it so badly, wanted to free himself from these shackles which had held him back all his life, from this overwhelming burden that crushed him agonizing slow.

But how could Alex say this with such conviction when she had no idea what was lurking deep in him? His gaze wandered to the desktop… to the thin red folder lying on the scratched old oak wood; the only thing that was on the obsessively neat desktop besides a lamp, the ever-present leather binder and his laptop. He'd long banished any photographs from it. It hurt too much to look at them, being reminded of… then.

He quickly tore off his gaze and shook his head. He knew that she'd meant every word she'd said. He knew that she cared and worried about him. He did, too, about her, but hell, he wasn't even capable of showing her appropriately. No one had ever taught him how!

His eyes wandered back to this damn red thing that had sealed his fate for good. Why should he put himself through tearing off all the scabs from his mental wounds and her as well by causing her nightmares as well? He just must show her that damn thing. Then she'd know everything necessary. It was the essence of his very being, summarized in sober, heartless numbers and words. There was no being mistaken, no lies or disguise of the truth, just the same, cruel and merciless. When she was smart she'd ran as fast as she could after reading it.

No, you're seeking the easy way out again. The truth was that he was simply scared shitless. Most of his childhood he'd fought hard for getting what every child deserved in his eyes: love, affection, protection, acknowledgement and respect. He never got it, on the contrary. He'd been open and susceptible for any kind of emotion. Sometime he'd just admitted defeat. He'd taken so many blows, little and big ones, physically but even more emotionally that he'd finally shut down to protect what little was left of him.

He hadn't cared anymore what anyone thought of him or how his own nature would affect people. He'd hidden himself behind a thick armor of numbness so emotions wouldn't get through to him, what he craved and feared most because they'd on the one hand had only caused him harm but he knew on the other that they were essentially for bonding with someone.

And that he wanted like nothing else. The loneliness and isolation he'd forced on himself to protect himself from harm was slowly killing him inside. He wanted to get rid of it, wanted to free himself. His greatest chance was only two stories below, waiting for him (and hopefully still there).

In his head he knew that he wasn't alone in the world, that there were others who experienced the same as him in their childhood, many even worse. They managed somehow to get their lives together, to free themselves from the shackles by sharing the burden of the past with someone.

It was the child in him, that damn fearful child that opposed him. He knew he'd found his mate, that had already seven years ago. He knew that she was the strong part of their partnership. She was the rock and he was her greatest burden. He was even his own greatest burden.

The mind is a strange thing but just that moment he remembered the part of the Indiana Jones trilogy where Indy hunts after the Holy Grail and has to pass several tasks to get to the grail. One of those tasks is crossing an abyss without any aid like a bridge or a rope, just by sheer faith carrying the true believer from one end to the other. He'd found it by chance when zapping through the channels and stuck with it because otherwise only shit was on. Of course that was a fictional story but this image fit his situation pretty well. He was standing at the abyss right now that separated him from what could be, what he could be. Alex was the bridge. She was the faith that could carry him and help him over to the other side. She was willing to carry him. Her words only a short while ago had made it very clear.

She could carry him, she must. Otherwise he'd fall... All the crap that had piled up somewhere in the hindmost corner of his mind that only came out when he slept and couldn't defend himself would swallow him alive. He'd decompensate… mentally break down, disintegrate, dissolve. He'd lose his mind first and then himself. Robert Goren would simply stop to exist and only a biological cover would remain. That was his greatest fear. It even overpowered losing Eames. If he lost himself how should he keep her at all then?

His hand had come to rest next to the red folder. That's a lie, he thought. I already have stopped to exist. He'd done the moment he'd opened that damn thing and the info it contained, this simple, unmistakable sentence had burned itself into his mind and made his worst fear, then still diffuse and abstract reality.

Time was running short. Alex wouldn't wait forever, wouldn't do that to herself forever and how could he blame her for it? The joints of the old leather chair screeched with protest when he put his feet to the ground and rose.

He hesitated only for a brief moment before gripping the folder. He knew what he had to do, had known it the whole time. There's no right moment for something like this… and never would be! One couldn't prepare for something like this or even plan it. He knew what was at stake when he didn't take action now. He finally wanted to live, really live, not only exist. He didn't want to fight anymore. He was still scared to death about what he was to do but it no longer paralyzed him.

With long determined strides he crossed the hallway and climbed down the stairs. During his descent he wondered if Alex would appreciate his confession in any way, if she could. It would be the ultimate mark of confidence. He crossed the wardrobe in the hallway, stepped through the broad passage that led to the spacious living / dining area and turned to the right.

He didn't notice the fading light of the setting sun shining through the panorama window and the two smaller ones flanking the couch on the wall, filling it with its orange-reddish glow or the bookshelves integrated into the walls. He only saw her familiar slim silhouette in front of the panorama window, looking out, having something mystic about it provided by the aura the sun created around it. She appeared to him like a supernatural being. As strange as it was he didn't believe in God or angels – had stopped long ago – but in the supernatural. He liked to call it the things that weren't explainable by science or the five senses.

"You're here."

She hadn't even turned around, just known that he was there. After their partnership had settled it had been like that. They'd known each other's presence without even seeing the other. They could end each other's sentences, read each other's mind, knew each other's habits and tastes and adjusted to them without even consciously knowing. They'd worked as smooth as a well oiled machine as Lewis, one of his few true friends and mechanic, would call it.

"Yeah… are you ready?"

"Wow, that sounds really enthusiastic," she scoffed.

He felt his face twist into a crooked grin. He rounded the two-seater sitting in right ankle to the couch and slumped down on it, sticking the folder in the crack between cushion and armrest. She came to him and sat down next to him. She leaned against the armrest with her back and looked at him.

"Are you alright, Bobby? You don't look too well."

That was putting it mildly he was sure. He felt physically sick, like he was going to puke any moment. He heard the worry in her voice…

"It's okay. I just…"

… and the fear and insecurity in his own. He must do this and he must do it right. He only had this one chance. Now it was all or nothing.

"I just never talked about… myself like…"

He struggled for the right words.

"… I will with you."


End file.
